It felt like a hundred years had passed when the broken puppet took her next breath. The stronghold and the mountain felt like another dream, the sound of violence coming from all around. Time must have slowed to condense ten thousand people’s worth of suffering and worries into minutes, only for the winds to blow them away.

The puppet raised an icy blue hand, watching stone and twisted metal encase it in a patchwork. It cocked its head.

Odd. Was this what its hand looked like? It felt so heavy, so smooth, so real.

It stared some more when a sharp clang of metal-on-metal cut through its concentration. Three figures were having an argument, a physical one. The large one was the noisiest.

Annoying.

The puppet waited for a cue that would tell her what her role in this nightmare was, as it could not change the shape of a dream, only its experience. If it demanded it to take the role of prey running for its life, then so be it. If its purpose was to watch as suffering unfolded, powerless to stop it, then that was the life it had always known.

Another clang. Vicious swearing. Its finger twitched.

Is there a choice? Is this a choice-mare?

It raised a hand and the world didn’t shudder, but affirmed its action by staying constant. With rising trumpets and a blare, its reservoir of will burst forth in a stream three bodies wide. It shot straight as a beam right into the noisy person, annihilating his torso utterly and scattering his limbs out the hole and across the mountain.

The puppet thought that maybe it should feel something, that it should feel good, or angry, or anything at all. But it was only doing what it was supposed to do, perhaps a little bit more.

“Rye!” one of the other figures called.

The puppet turned its hand on a swivel, cutting clear through the wall behind the second figure. It had missed them as they had thrown themselves to the ground. That was… good? Bad? Maybe the puppet should try again, just to be sure. Maybe this was the kind of dream where she was the nightmare.

“Gods, Rye!” A hand wrenched hers upwards, the last of her beam dissipating into the ceiling. “Snap out of it.”

A few grape-sized pebbles from the crumbled ceiling bonked off her head and armor, making a distinct ting sound.

Warm hand.

“What do we do?” the other one said. “She doesn’t have a face. What do we do?”

The puppet frowned, at least it felt like it did. If it was supposed to have a face, then something would have tipped it off to that. It must have missed something.

Embarrassing.

“Let me try something.”

Water splashed against her face.

Cold.

“That didn’t do anything.”

“I know, I… Rye, if you’re still in there, can you talk to me? Bean?”

“It twitched. It totally did! Do that again, but more seductive.”

“Rye. Bean. Love. Come on, I’m here.” Moments of silence passed. “Did you fix your arm all by yourself? I’m so proud. Can you do the same thing with the rest?”

The puppet nodded slowly. It was supposed to nod here, or maybe not. It didn’t know anymore and just hoped that this weird nightmare would be over soon so she could pass onto one she knew she could handle. A blood-and-guts one would be nice. A simple one.

Who is… she?

The pile of metal and stone reformed around to fill her out completely, foreign bits coalescing to form even the face. A finger traced along her contours, touched her chin, rubbed her lips. Then something pillowy touched them and for the first time since the start, her eyes focused on something closer than the horizon. Two sharp grey spheres seemed to lunge at her, seemed to devour her as they traveled down her body and pierced her soul right in the heart.

It – no, she – drunk greedily from the offered lips, and with it came the knowledge that she was somebody. And that somebody wanted exactly this, wanted more. More!

“Mmhhh – Rye!” The woman pulled back, rubbing her lips. “No biting.”

“Sorry.”

Rye was Rye and Rye was smiling.

“You’re Sam,” she said, pointing at them in turn. “And you’re Karla.”

Rye laughed and collapsed in Sam’s arms in a heap of giggles. “I remember. I did it! Wooooh!”

“Wow, she really didn’t remember a thing,” Karla said as she sat herself down. Her legs gave away partway through and she fell onto her back, limbs splayed out like a starfish. “You just kind of slumped together there. Turned all fuzzy and faceless. That thing with your body, are you doing that?”

Rye nodded. She had the shard of shapes, it only made sense that she could use it, right?

“Reminds me of Rhuna.”

There came another piece she had been missing.

“Rhuna?” Rye called. “Rhuna, are you there?”

But there was no answer. She was gone, annihilated without a trace, the only signs she had lived being a few broken statues in her old domain. Perhaps that was for the best. To say she died how she lived wasn’t entirely true; she showed Rye a hint of the person she had once been. But she made her choice. Some ways of life deserved a death in turn. All that was left was her shard of shapes.

Rye rubbed her cheek, then realizing that she had a physical cheek to rub, traced back down to her lips.

“You revived me. With a kiss.” She smiled impishly at Sam. “How knightly of my knighty-knight. Was it as good as you hoped it would be?”

“It was like kissing sandpaper,” Sam answered flatly. “Your face is made of rocks and pebbles. I risked my life, almost cut myself.” She motioned to the other half of her face. “You’ve got something there.”

When Rye touched it, she felt the unmistakable feeling of scales. They were running from her arm up her neck and were busy colonizing her jaw just below the ear.

“Oh.” She found her finger-pointing wand stuck to her below the elbow, revealing it to be slightly bent when she peeled it off. “Did I cast that much without a focus? I barely noticed.”

“Barely,” she said, then with a huff and a smile kissed her on her forehead. “You look like a shattered mirror, bean. Are you really alright?”

“Alright? I feel great! I feel like I can be whoever, be whatever I want. Ascending the mountain is going to be a piece of cake.”

“Wehee, mountain…” Karla said, lying on the ground with all the energy of a wet piece of paper.

“Is she ok?” Rye asked.

“Just… tired. Concussed. I think we could all use a moment of rest.” Sam squeezed a good mouthful of their last water bottle into her mouth, then gave Karla the rest. “What’s the matter?”

Rye stared at her resolutely. “I can’t wait. I had a dream. Many dreams. I saw so, so much suffering. I saw Elia. I need… I want to help.”

Sam looked at her, then up and out the hole. “But we’re only halfway there. I don’t know how youuu–“

She trailed off as Rye gathered more bits of rock to her arms and flattened them until they looked like wings.

“Wow. Can you fly with those?”

“I dreamed I was a bird. They’re actually a lot more feathery than I expected. And if a roc can fly, so can I.” A flap of her wings lifted her a foot off the ground. They really were rather large, but it was still not enough. She’d have to make up for the rest with conjuring or, more likely, find some other body shape with which to climb much faster. “There. All good.”

“You can have my apple juice,” Karla said, handing her a water bottle.

“Thanks.” Rye turned to face Sam, wing-hands still spread far. “I, uh, can’t hug you like this.”

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Sam enveloped her in a vice-like hug. “Come back.”

“I will.”

And with that she set out.

Hopefully I’m not too late.

You have completed a grand trial

You are extraordinarily worthy

***

Time until reconstitution: 00:00:01

Elia’s consciousness faded in and out. In one moment she was here, then in the next she was lying in tall grass, listening to the rustle of trees under the gentle guidance of the sun. Earth's sun. Such a distant, comforting thing. Then she was back in the maze. With a sudden lurch, she was back in the real world, coughing her lungs out.

There was glass on the floor in front of her, glass on the bed, glass everywhere, except a conspicuously shattered window. Right, she was fighting Avon. God, what a fucking bastard he was. She’d snuck in a few good hits, but then he refused to die and came at her with that hammer and that laughing face of his, and then…

I was launched, far.

Something slithered at her side. She jerked away, suddenly not at all groggy. The thing was slimy and dark, crick-cracking in place like a dozen joints. It was her arm, the left one.

Panic rose in her belly. Slowly, carefully, she felt around, reaching for her shard knife. After a moment of staring, it lunged at her. She stabbed her arm in the face and, well, it was still her arm. For a moment, her vision went white with pain.

One more time. Come on.

Setting the jagged shard-blade under her armpit, she took a quick breath and pulled. This time the pain came with a definite sensation of loss, as if her body still thought it still had an arm to move, that nerves connected to a limb that didn’t exist anymore. Then she cauterized the wound with her burning shortsword, and suddenly the pain was a lot more pronounced.

“Fuck.” She looked between her stump and her remaining arm, which didn’t look much better. Tar spread. Fire spread too, albeit much more slowly. She could almost hear it chanting in the back of her mind. Fire, death, rebirth. Fire, death, rebirth.

She chuckled even through the tears. “You should see the other guy. Ow.”

And yet, no matter how funny it was to watch Avon’s headless body stagger around as she disarmed him, it didn’t feel like a victory. The tar was like a hydra, killing the biggest head only made more space for the next Avon-wannabe.

She clutched her head as a sharp pang of pain rang through it.

“Mind? Sense?” She held her head, as she searched for them and found a writhing mess. Everything hurt and there was blood running down her face. She wiped away what she thought was a tear and shakily stood up.

I’m here, Mind said. I’m alright. Sense is… gone. She did it herself. There was tar. The pain was too much.

Elia blinked. “What?”

It doesn’t matter now. We’re in too deep. We need to go forward, remember?

Death didn’t seem so bad anymore. But she was here to do… something. It was important. But what was it? “Gotta get to the big building. Gotta get to the… where am I?”

There were flowers growing outside the broken window, inside the room, and on an old bed. The smell of earth clung to every piece of furniture. Everything was rotten, smelling in that way old wood did in the middle of a forest.

A… tower? Flower tower. Heh.

There were stairs outside of the room, a single set that twisted either up or down. No hallways or anything else.

The floorboards creaked, then cracked as she took one step into the next room further down. Like a startled cat, she jumped, landing on the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, which also began making sounds of rapid disassembly. The ceiling gave way, then the floor as she hit it, and splinters flew everywhere as she plunged through rotten wood.

The final floor was not wood, but stone, and she landed with groan.

Why me? Why here? Why now?

“My. My, my-my.” A voice like honey and silk electrified her from toe to the tip of her nose.

You are in the presence of a god. Kneel.

A pressure forced her onto her hands and knees. Elia didn’t bother to fight it. Dim light flooded the room in rays.

“My. An intruder. We do love those.”

She raised her head and immediately lowered it. The supple pink skin of a woman as smooth as milk beckoned at the corner of her vision. She was lying on a heavenly wide bed under a baldachin, wearing nothing but a copper and silver tiara, earrings, bracelets and rings around her ankles. The only thing covering her nakedness was the Baldachin’s thin silk and a necklace of white-feathered chicks that all stared at her in eerie quiet.

Her face, perfect in all proportions, sucked her in like a soft bed of heavenly downs. Some distant part told her that looking into her eyes was dangerous. She settled on the woman’s chin, but even that was so sensuous she felt herself almost melt into a puddle.

I’m so tired.

But one of her snakes was too curious.

Ohhh, its herrr, Mind slurred. Ssso prrretty. Watch ouuut~.

And then she conked out and Elia was pretty certain that looking this god in the eyes wouldn’t end well for her. She closed her eyes, trying and failing to so much as think as her head was filled with sweet nothings.

“So brave looking,” the goddess cooed. “So tired.”

“’M not tired,” Elia muttered.

Her voice was coming from all around. She felt a hot breath in her ear.

“But you will. You scorned us, denied us. We are the reason people sleep in until noon, the reason twelve hours make you groggier than six. Fear me! We are Rokokoko, princess prima.”

Elia blinked again. “Who?”

“Roko-koko. Unsleeping princess. We are unfathomably beautacious, unquestionably bodacious.”

“That’s not a word,” Elia slurred. There was some wooden dust in her mouth. She coughed it out as she was dragged onto heavenly soft sheets. The princess did not seem amused.

“Open your eyes.” But Elia was so sleepy. “Come, have a look, have a feel, o’ intruder-whom-we-didn’t-invite-and-whose-every-action-we-do-not-approve-or-condone.”

Something about that sounded like a justification trying to twist in on itself like a pretzel. It reminded her of Karla. “Heh. Goddess of princesses. Still a princess.”

“We are the princess, yes. The rules were made to imprison we in this tower, and we alone,” the goddess huffed, then shifted around. “All others are imitators, actors. You smell like fake princess. Let us show you the real thing. You will not want anything else after.”

“Sorry, I’m not gay,” Elia giggled and toppled onto the sheets. Some sort of bird twittered angrily, then pecked her thigh. “Sleep now. Good night, pillow princess.”

“We. Are. Not! You have been rude. You will serve us until we–

Elia conked out and woke back up in what felt like the blink of an eye. The blood on her clothes was dry and crumbly. Time had passed, but she was just as confused and groggy as before.

“Elia~? Ooh, that did it,” an otherworldly voice tittered. “Come here, Elia. Listen to us.”

No, it was familiar.

“Ugh. Karla, is that you?” She looked up, and saw someone who was very much not Karla. She was just some young woman with green eyes like the forest. “Wait. Who’s Karla?”

“Yesss! You looked us in the eyes. We own you now! Those are the rules!”

“’Kay.”

You have sworn an oath

Serve the goddess of princesses' every wish. If you fail, she may punish you. But you won't, because you're a good bean.Right?

There was a pause. Elia blinked. She made a mistake, but she had a hard time remembering what it was. Her head was killing her. Where was she? Why was she here?

“I'm not a good bean,” she muttered. “I could kill you, y’know.”

“You could not.” She grinned widely. “You could not do it because we would never tell any of our servants to harm us.”

Elia looked around. The tower was dilapidated, crumbling and rotting everywhere but here. The goddess’ nest was large enough to hold ten people. The only other sign of life besides the plants were her birds.

Elia squinted. “Birds don’t exist.”

“Ah, but you see, these are not birds. That one has scales, so it is clearly a lizard.”

“And that one?” She pointed to one that looked like someone had given a newborn penguin an electric charge.

“Why yes, this one here has fur. Therefore, it is a mammal. Very different from a bird. We follow all rules, we are good, yes. You have such silly notions on how things ought to be.”

That was remarkably… superficial. Elia wasn’t sure if this made the princess the smartest person among the gods she had met so far, or the dumbest.

Elia sighed. “I have to go somewhere. Your bed is really soft.”

“And you’re getting it all dirty.” Rokokoko frowned. “Go on, clean your mess.”

Well, Elia couldn’t say no to that. She shoveled the chicks and the heron aside, which between the two looked like they were seconds from getting an aneurysm. Cleaning stuff was hard work even with two monkey hands. But it wasn’t going to be any easier by herself, the blood and grizzly bits she had dragged in had absolutely ruined the sheets.

One of the drops wiggled like a worm. Elia speared it through in one go with her burning Moony.

“Hah!” She looked at the princess, proud of what she had done. “There we go. Tar begone.”

“Um,” Rokokoko ummed. “The bed.”

Elia looked down. The bed was catching fire. Quickly. As if smelling tinder, the flames hopped over to the baldachin and set it alight. Within seconds, the room was alight in an orange glow.

“Aaah!” the princess screamed as her birds tried to put it out. “Fire, fire! What are you looking at Us like that for, save Us!”

Elia blinked. “Ok.”

She went to grab the princess, realized she only had one arm, then flung her over her shoulders and jumped out of the bedroom, shattering the window in the process. She landed and rolled right into a hedge that prickled against everything.

“You alright, princess?”

“Ack! Pbbth!” She spat out a bundle of leaves. “Stupid, stupid servant. You’re the worst. The worst! I don’t want you anymore. Go. Begone!”

Your oath has been fulfilled

“Okay?” Elia looked at her, confused. “And what about you?”

“We will be fine. We have many servants.”

“No, I mean, aren’t you supposed to be imprisoned in the tower?”

The goddess of princesses blinked and looked around, slowly, as if she was just realizing that they were outside. “We… Ruthe is dead. We are free. Free! To me, mammals and reptiles!”

Two pairs of wings swooped down from above. The eagle owls stared balefully at Elia as they picked their princess up. The rest of her not-bird servants followed after, the chicks being carried in the mouth of a pelican Elia had somehow missed.

I think I’m still dreaming. What was I doing again?

Oath of Elia to Valti, Goddess of the wild hunt, the distant lady, et cetera.

You have sworn to follow Valti’s wish and destroy the grail of ages, ending the age of gods. The grail is inside the great temple-palace of Ruthe, hidden in a cave behind the throne of our creator. Should you fail, you will not be punished and the world will continue as it is, but Valti will be very sad.

“Huh.” Elia read through it, then double read that last part. “Well, we can’t have that. Guess I’m going to the palace.”

She set out on her way.

“Whoever Valti is.”